The Archangel Dossier

By P. H. Sparks

“When he broke the third seal, I heard the third living creature saying, ‘Come.’ I looked, and behold, a black horse; and he that sat on it had a pair of scales in his hand.”

Revelations 6:5.

Secrets and lies, armies and agendas, and behind it all was corporate interest. Doctor Corman McMasters understood this

• Language: English
• Publisher: Global Summit House
• Release date: Mar 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781645165033

P. H. Sparks

I have always been interested in the myths and legends of world cultures both past and present, and that has been rooted into my studies of the occult. Stories of things unknown that scare us at night have always held my interest, and I would try to learn more about them. I currently live in the Greater Vancouver area with my wife Christine, my son Adam and our demon cat Kasha.

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The Archangel Dossier

By: P.H. Sparks

Edited By Blaine Greenwood

Copyright © P.H. Sparks

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

ISBN: 978-1-64516-502-6 (Paperback Edition)

ISBN: 978-1-64516-501-9 (Hardcover Edition)

ISBN: 978-1-64516-503-3 (E-book Edition)

Some characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Book Ordering Information

Phone Number: 347-901-4929 or 347-901-4920

Email: [e-mail]

Global Summit House

www.globalsummithouse.com

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Book 1 The Whole World Is A Stage

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Book 2 Enemy at the Gates

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Book 3 The End Of Days

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Epilogue

This book is dedicated to my wife, my partner, and my best friend, Christine. Her insights and arguments stir my thoughts and fuel my thirst to learn more, and I am grateful to every moment she disagreed with me. I love you.

Countless people . . . will hate the new world order . . . and will die protesting against it.

- H.G. Wells

Book 1

The Whole World Is A Stage

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Prologue

There was something on the wind, like a subtle smell that couldn’t be clearly identified, but it was always there. One always wondered if the smell could be harmful or if it was just a nuisance to be endured. On this bright, late summer day in the farming districts, however, something was different. It hinted that there were going to be harsh alterations to the normal state of accepted reality. The signs, like the endured nuisance, were always ignored. It was the prophecy that stated there would be a new evolution to be analyzed that foretold of the storm that was coming. Like the shimmer of a heat wave horizontal forces directed rather than vertical ones, something moved through the air. It went undetected by those around it who found themselves too busy to notice or care about the danger that was brought with it. It started with scientific discovery, with man’s ever imposing need to control and remake the world. This discovery had somehow mutated to become the destructive forces that were the seeds of war and the reorganization of the social o rder.

This new order would reshape the world, redefine values, and bring back man’s need to evaluate what it was to be . . . man. Modern social standing had so changed in that few people cared anymore about the machine that dictated the reduced standard of living. This was to prove enough distraction until it was too late to reverse course to avert disaster, like the ship trying to change the inevitable just before impact with the iceberg. Like the ship and its cruel masters, there could be only one group that would be allowed to return to the world, avoiding the grip of certain death. There could only be one outcome: Those who were considered disposable would be consigned to oblivion. Survival would depend on what could be taken by force from the less fortunate, less able, or less willing to continue.

As the wind blew, this new force stretched its invisible tentacles through the air like the ringed roots of a death cap mushroom, reaching every farm, village, or city that grew anything that depended on seed production. This living force, a mutated plant bacterium, owed its life to the discoveries of a scientist attempting to manipulate the bacteria on a genetic level in an attempt to control the use of pesticides. This discovery would make the use of all poisons obsolete. At least that was the original plan before men of power changed the plan.

A new life created by man, the bacterium became the wildfire of evolution, or perhaps the hand of karma unnoticed, spreading across all lands unchecked and growing faster than any could ever know. As the bacteria had been changed, it settled into the soil and changed the composition of the soil on an elemental level. This contamination was absorbed through the root systems of everything green.

Once the bacteria were absorbed into the root systems, the process was irreversible, and the mutation accelerated the change in the chemical composition of the plant as it grew. Once inside the plant, the mutation altered the reproduction of the plant. The seeds produced were nothing but dry, blackened husks. This change was slow as the plant metabolized the invader. That was why no one took notice of the trees dying on the borderlands. Crops would eventually yield less and less during the harvest. Fertilizers and soil additives did nothing to correct the problem; every plant that fell became a dry husk and was blown away, leaving nothing but contaminated waste and nutrient-poor dust where life once thrived.

The doomsday clock ticked on; the wave of chaos was approaching at breakneck speed. But to understand the change and the reasons for it, the story must begin six months ago.

1

Doctor Corman McMasters had never met anyone from the military interested in his particular fields of study, couldn’t see where mathematics and chaos relativity studies would be useful. Military thought usually followed extreme strategic planning, and that was restricted to operational objectives. That required minds coming together to discuss outcomes, agendas, and possibilities based on probabilities and always with a psychology based on cold and disciplined thinking. Chaos theory illustrated endless possibilities and results, and none of them achieved through strategic planning or predic tion.

Corman’s studies in chaos relativity and cause and effect would have reversed the military thinking in a way the top minds wouldn’t accept or comprehend. Even when he was on the front lines, he was considered an odd number but respected for his clarity of vision.

His time in the service was limited though—ten years as a doctor in the trauma centers and mash units before he was sent home due to a family tragedy. Shortly after, he retired from military service and continued his studies on home shores. It was also that time when he lost his best friend in the field, Doctor Nate Snyder. Corman swore he would do what he could to look out for his friend’s daughter, Elise. That was twenty-five years ago, and once again, he felt he was being dragged into military intellectual circles.

Corman Eunice McMasters and Nathaniel Randall Christian Snyder, two very traditional Irish lads, grew up as schoolmates in high school. The relationship continued through college and then on to medical school. They were an underdog pair that was overlooked because they were not part of the beautiful people club. Being ignored by jocks, bullies, or any others who had no tolerance for those who didn’t fit, did have advantages, and for two young men from the less privileged side of the city, advantages were often found where others were too vain to see.

As like minds tend to gravitate together, they found each other in similar interests, math and history in particular. They would often have discussions regarding great social movements of the times, and more than a few famous names were tossed around in their debates. Their conversations would eventually turn to the more chaotic tastes such as military history and political diversity in operation. It was around these conversations that Corman started to form the opinions and convictions that would dictate the rest of his life.

As Corman had always been driven to extremes to perform at his best in anything he did, his scores were always top shelf. He chose the field of mathematics and philosophy in which to cultivate his obvious talents and sharp intellect. In order to have a position where he could continue his studies in these areas, he chose to concentrate on medicine to establish the income he thought would be necessary. This would have been too large a course load for many students, but one Corman proved able to manage.

Nate chose a different path; he was more interested in the psychological rather than surgical. He accepted a scholarship through a different school. Nate focused on social and political studies. This took him to many areas around the country, but the two friends always kept in contact.

While starting the first weeks of his internship, Corman found himself in a relationship with another student, Sienna Delisle. She wanted to focus on becoming a software programmer. This meant the schedules almost never allowed for time together.

In her field, there were opportunities for social engagements that could not be missed if there was a chance to advertise your tools and skill sets. The demands of study increased, and the fights increased with them. Three months passed, and the relationship would come to a collision point. Corman wanted to devote more time to his studies to determine where to focus in choosing a specialty. She wanted more from the relationship. Words were said, and when she walked out, he felt exposed and abandoned. He never saw her again.

His drinking increased after that, and he told himself that it was to forget the frustration and rejection, to forget the words she yelled at him before she walked out. Nate tried to be a good friend and offered a chance to listen when he could, but time was limited. Nate’s difficulties were far less unmanageable despite the fact that his wife was of African lineage, and together, they were raising a daughter.

Bottom hit hard for Corman one night after a depression-driven binge. He was called back to the hospital to check on a patient with serious complications. When he arrived back in the trauma area, he was told his patient had gone into cardiac arrest and was being rushed to an operating room.

Many questions followed. It was found that Corman misjudged the dose of medication the patient was given, and the mistake had pushed the patient into toxic shock. The patient survived and was quite congenial regarding the incident, stating that because this was a teaching hospital, this was one lesson the student should be allowed to learn and continue on with his studies. As a result of this defense, Corman was suspended but was allowed to return and finish his intern year.

After the incident, however, and with help from his friend, Corman recovered, but never again did he allow himself to be distracted by romance or substance abuse. From that time on, he threw himself into his studies and found his area of study in trauma medicine and in the academic study of chaos theory. This provided him an opportunity to learn the concepts that would help him identify problems and diagnose faster with those who were afraid of hospitals.

When both Corman and Nate had finished their intern years and were finally open to searching for locations to settle, Nate convinced Corman to join him in a term of military service. Corman thought this might be premature at the time considering that Nate had a family now, with a little girl to look after. But Nate assured that his wife was on board with the idea, allowing him to follow a plan that was years in the making. They both signed up and, soon after, were sent to the front lines in Iraq. Corman continued in the mash units, but Nate was chosen for special projects due to his training and was soon flying around various hotspots in the Middle East or Africa. It was during a training operation that Corman had learned of his friend’s death in the field. They had arranged with their commanders, and Corman would return home to care for Nate’s daughter. Now he was a veteran doctor on the home front.

When he came home, he settled first in Portland, Oregon. He was never really satisfied with the environment. The weather was uncomfortable, and he found that the autocratic policy management the hospital board supported was unjustifiable for an establishment that was supposed to be a compassionate and life-sustaining resource. Complications resulted from these conflicts of interest. Tension at home increased. There were lean years, and school was not always the first priority, but Elise supported all changes that had to be made. She did what was necessary to support him. After years of careful consideration, he made the move to Chicago. Elise was now starting her own career in medicine, but they were never out of contact. She never needed to ask for anything that was needed to assist her in her studies. That was his promise to her, that he was always near.

The relocation aided Corman in finding his way. He was still very disturbed about the practices the hospitals continued to engage. How many had he turned away from the hospital because they couldn’t afford the bed to keep them warm during the cold winter nights? How many had he turned away because they couldn’t afford medical treatment? How many lives had been lost because he was prevented from doing what he could to save those who desperately needed the help? At times, Corman felt the casualties coming from the front lines in Iraq, no matter which side of the line they were on, were better served than the people on the home front.

After a couple of years dealing with the blood of thousands of innocents that bureaucracy had turned away, people begging for a little help and being discarded like unwanted pest animals, Corman transferred from the larger medical facility in the city to a hospital on the poorer streets of Chicago. He thought that if he gave his talents to the hospitals that were set up to help a poor society in need of help, maybe his faith in human compassion would not be lost, but that faith would be tested in ways he could not have expected.

He saw more people die during those many years in Chicago, saw more blood in the streets, more dead sons and daughters. The casualties were brought into the triage wards with bellies and faces sliced open and bones shattered—just boys with their bodies brutally beaten by rival gangs. This scared him every night he worked on the injured while police officers forced patients to beds so the medical staff wouldn’t be harmed in the process. There was always a risk of the patient attacking, a chance a gang street hunt would spill into the hospital after a fight. There were always safety measures taken whenever there was a busy night.

Corman remembered he could only watch some nights as young men died and girls far too young became single mothers. The sad part was, there were fewer social workers, counselors, or other specialized personnel willing to give their time to the forsaken street people, and the street people were always the ones becoming more forsaken as the street wars raged on. The media reported more social programs being cut for loss of revenue or some other political justification. It was an endless cycle of darkness, violence, and fear.

A generation passed. Corman settled his affairs in Chicago and came back to the west coast, choosing Malibu for his return to obscurity. These days, Corman tended to devote most of his time teaching, with the hope that maybe he could change the opinions of the younger generation by relating the stories of his experiences. Maybe when more people knew the truth, something would change for the better. Each year he taught, he would be disappointed; each year, he would see that only militant thought and exercise was still in place, no matter what the situation presented.

Whether lecturing across the country or working in the operating room, the battle lines were the same even if the environment changed. Conflict on the mean streets or in the conference room, even without bombs and armies, was still combat. With all efforts to curb the violence on the streets or change the policy in the conference rooms, very little had been accomplished.

This became his new obsession: to know why it was so difficult to save people from preventable inevitability, to understand why so many people were dying. He was driven to separate the sociological and the psychological from the systemic in order to identify the root cause of this conflict.

When Corman received the phone call from his office asking about the possibility of investments into the reformation of programs in the poorer communities, he had no idea what his office was talking about. Even if he had heard of such a thing, he would have discounted it as a cleverly worded propaganda campaign promise. When it was mentioned that the call was transferred from Fort Hancock, New Jersey, he knew this was not a call to be ignored.

He wanted to maintain control of where the meeting would take place, so the directions he gave to his secretary for this meeting brought him to an older coffee shop in an area of the windy city known as Little Italy—well chosen for the touristy feel of wrought iron railings and attractive traditional Italian architectural design. There were an attraction and comfort about the place, aided by the genuine hospitality of the staff that would often engage in conversation as though every day was a Sunday morning. Few of the people around him would notice or care about visitors to the area, and the overhanging plants added the benefit of reducing line of sight. Corman felt this was the ideal location where he could meet his contact, someone named Lorris.

A smartly dressed young man stopped at Corman’s table. Hi, Doc. Haven’t seen you around for a bit. Can I get you the same as always? The man’s smile was soft and genuine. It was the kind of smile that glowed with modesty and would have been out of place in the big city.

The sudden approach interrupted Corman’s study of the daily chatter. One report of chicken pox at a local school held his interest, no reports of how serious the situation was yet though. Please. He looked up and returned the smile.

How did the last tour go? the waiter asked.

Oh, just fine. It was a larger convention this time, so the tour ran an extra week. I don’t expect to be going anywhere for a while. I figure it’s time to relax, thought I’d start here.

The waiter noticed the paper open to the top headline. You know, that’s the second outbreak in the area this year. There was also tell of a bad flu in Colorado and Montana.

Wasn’t that years ago? Corman asked with interest.

No, this was recent. Doctors there said it took a while for them to control it. I hope that’s not the start of something.

What do you mean?

Well, it seems to me that year by year, the bugs are getting worse, harder to beat. I just wonder how long it will be before we lose control and can’t fight back anymore. Kind of a scary outlook, don’t you think?

Good point. Medical science isn’t catching up with virus evolution. Maybe all we can do is hope we’re ready for whatever comes next. I think today I won’t think about that.

Fair enough. Is there anything else I can get for you?

Yes, please. Company will be joining me in a moment; please bring a coffee for him.

The waiter gave a sharp nod and hustled off to fill the order. Corman turned, and a tall and stocky man in full uniform, complete with ribbons and stars, two on each shoulder, sat at the opposite seat at his table.

The visitor was a Caucasian, his skin tanned, seasoned by years on the front lines in various war-torn countries. Now he worked for the Pentagon on any special projects that required a visible presence. That meant the projects were weapons geared more toward infiltration of a target social structure. Are you sure it’s appropriate to meet here? This really should be done in a more private setting, the visitor said. His voice was soft but in no way a disguise of strength and confidence.

Corman smiled. If you want privacy, you won’t find a place more private. It’s quiet, neat, and public, General Lorris. It’s also the kind of place no one pays attention to. Besides, I like to keep my options open. He took a slow sip of his steaming brew, watching the general’s face, studying his reactions. The waiter set a large cup of steaming coffee on the table, distracting the general’s attention.

Lorris looked up and nodded at the waiter, then focused on his guest. Do you know me, sir? He smiled back.

Only by reputation, General, Corman responded. I hope you don’t offend, a man of your obvious presence, but I like to know a little about those I meet beforehand. Three times decorated, posted in Iraq during Operation Desert Storm, five years in Germany working at the medical facility in Marburg, and two years in Reston, Virginia before being finally stationed at your current location. You specialized in counter-terrorism insurgency and bio-warfare. It’s an impressive resume.

And you are Doctor Corman Eunice McMasters. You were posted in Iraq as well, were you not? Doctor of medicine specializing in trauma care, also holding doctorates in mathematics, philosophy, and chaos theory, and an honorary degree in psychology. You spent several years working in hospitals in Seattle, Portland. Your longest term was spent in one of the poorest hospitals in the country in Chicago. You turned down an opportunity to teach at Johns Hopkins to continue your work in Chicago, preferring to work at a local college instead. You rather enjoy taking the moral high ground, not the typical successful miracle worker role but that of a mentor. I do my homework as well, Doctor.

Then you’ll know I have only one question, Corman replied.

Lorris continued to smile. So, what’s your question?

Corman looked at his host for a few seconds. What am I doing here, General? You certainly didn’t call me for my expertise in medicine or my knowledge in societal expressionism?

Societal what?

Sorry, social development in poor communities and street talk, Corman clarified. It’s the disconnection of society and language.

I see. The general paused, sipping his coffee. Actually, it is just that. I want—would like to use your knowledge to help us with a project the Pentagon has authorized. This is all top secret, of course.

Of course, Corman returned.

Yes. Well, we are putting together a team.

We? Corman interrupted.

Yes, as in we, the military. Lorris took a breath, holding his temper. Look, Doctor, I am asking for your help. A scientific team is being put together with some of the top minds on the continent. I need someone who has been in a combat situation, someone who has seen the worst of triage, even from the gang wars on the streets. I need someone to manage this team under constant pressure and absolute secrecy. Can you do that?

Yes, General, I can, but there is always the question of morals and ethics where there is a military connection to both science and secrets.

Granted, I’ll give you that. Here’s the thing, this is an operation that is going to start with full authority of the President. I am offering you an opportunity to ensure the project is steered in the right direction from start to finish. Science and secrets have always been requirements in every military project. You, as the project leader, must ensure the project goes according to planning and firm direction. We can ensure that you will have everything you need to make that happen, and in turn, we can all protect the secrets of this project from those who wish to use our discoveries to further the process of conflicts in whatever form these discoveries are used against us.

Fine sales pitch, but I’m not buying it. How do you want me to run this science project of yours?

I need you to manage the operation as the chief, to lead the team as if you were running a hospital, with every stage of the project under your purview. If there is a question that needs to be answered, I will answer them. You will have every commodity you need to manage your team, and if there are others you need for your team, arrangements are always possible.

You could find any good chief surgeon for that. What do you really want? Corman leveled his gaze, lightly rubbing a fingertip on the gold-trimmed lip of the small mug.

Lorris dropped his smile. I have read your theories on social crises in difficult times and the continued spread of this effect through communities. You understand the beast that may be presented when the mob rules the streets and the loss of innocent life. You can sense the psychology of the poorer social communities and see the way it infects their minds.

Cut the bullshit, Corman shot back. I’ve seen too much blood to care about your Save The Country campaign. You and I both know there is something else you want from me. Stop lying about it. This is a military operation, plain and simple, isn’t it?

Alright, what would it take to get you on board?

First, tell me the truth. Second, tell me what’s involved without blowing sunshine and smoke up my ass.

Corman held his hand up to keep Lorris from interrupting.

I worked on the streets, worked with those kids on the streets, kids whose lives I couldn’t save six months later when they came back into my operating room, bleeding out from gunshots or knife wounds. I spoke with politicians and lawyers trying to make them see what was going on out there. I talked for years to the younger children being recruited for the gangs before they got swept up in the violence. Each year, they just kept getting younger, and I kept getting further from the solution. Eventually, it doesn’t matter why you try, you just carry on. Trust me when I say I can tell buckwheat from bullshit.

As you wish. Lorris reached into his briefcase and pulled out a file labeled Archangel, handing it to Corman. A science team is being put together to experiment on viruses, use that data in war game scenarios so we can predict the possible damage. This is where you come in. You understand the changes in society both in expansion of poverty and social dysfunction as the case may be. Yours was the only opinion that stood out as a prediction of what happened in the religious part of the south coast when we had Hantavirus outbreak many years ago. The authorities were convinced in time to move people in before tensions became a riot. Yours was the only opinion that pointed out accurately that it had nothing to do with a poisoned society despite the racial tensions in the area. The psychological damage that was done was something you were able to see before it happened. You also understood the outbreaks of cholera and typhoid after the natural disasters in Central America after the earthquakes and the tsunami in the South Pacific. You seem to understand the changes before they happen, and you predict the path they will take. With that, we can anticipate possible consequences.

Corman scanned the file, noting all the different subjects this operation was intended to address. These things were not that difficult to predict. You want me to join the team to teach you the mathematics so you can figure this out on your own? He dropped the file on the table, and the general returned the file to his briefcase.

No, the problems in the past have been that we know what we can do, but by the time we get emergency services organized, many people have already died. Too much damage has been done. Your theories point out that there are changes to the program that can be made, often before the disaster happens. You have shown that you can predict reasons these delays cost so many lives, but your theories are too advanced for us to figure out the applications. We want you to break it down, use your math to predict the outcomes of the various experiments, and then apply that math to a larger scale. I was informed you are the top mind in the field of social advancement and chaotic predictability. We don’t know how to apply the psychology the same way you have.

Corman took a deep breath. Alright, General, but I have conditions of my own. I will choose who comes or goes regarding the science. I will need access to research materials and media outlets so I can study societal changes as they happen. I will need clear lines of communication for my team and me, and that may require access to opinions outside the field of your security net. The rest, you’ll learn as we go.

I remind you; the project information you will be working on with your team is top secret—

We covered that, Corman cut in.

Security clearances will not allow civilian involvement.

You forget I’m still one of them?

Not if you accept this project. The outside opinions you refer to may not be possible.

Make it possible, Corman demanded. If you want to see into my crystal ball, this is what it requires. This is the only way to make the predictions you crave. You need to understand that the information I provide may be the kind that presents more problems than solutions. It may become necessary to alter the program on a moment’s notice to compensate for the changes.

I think I understand. You must also understand that you operate under the authority of the president, and you do nothing he doesn’t know about.

Yeah, you covered that one too, Corman said. You haven’t given me an answer yet. Is the team mine to direct and my lines of communication to remain as I set them?

General Lorris stood and held out his hand. Welcome to the team.

Corman looked at the extended hand, not taking the gesture and preferring to remain seated. He looked into Lorris’ eyes. The General’s body language suggested to Corman that trust was not yet a factor to be considered. His instincts told him there was more truth yet to be brought to light. I’ll see you at the base in three days, General.

Lorris gave a sharp tug to the bottom of his uniform coat, nodded, and with a briefcase in hand, turned to continue down the street.

Corman pulled out his cell phone and called a number he had not used in close to a year. He hoped she was still in Chicago. Elise was home. After a short exchange, he put his phone away. He was left wondering why this was so important that he had to have presidential authority. If that was the case, what was the real agenda and who was really pulling the strings? The file he scanned outlined nothing about the operations, only about the subjects that were to be addressed and the number of personnel required for each department. He understood that directed by the military always had something else planned as the endgame. He felt that digging a little deeper into the history of this general was warranted. A little paranoia here was prudent.

Three days later, on a warm Tuesday morning, Corman arrived at the front gates of the base. He could see two well-armed guards watching as he approached, and he pulled to a slow stop at the gate control arm. The guard, dressed for a warm day, asked for identification which was provided quickly and then asked Corman to wait. While a check was being conducted, he had the opportunity to carefully scan what he could see of the layout of the base. Men were training on the parade grounds. The sounds of sharp orders were being issued and responded to. But as the time was approaching late morning, he thought it would be fresh recruits being hardened to long and grueling marches. He heard no cadence that might indicate calisthenics training. The barracks and control buildings were strategically separated, but what Corman was looking for, he couldn’t see. The guard interrupted his attention. He turned back to the guardhouse.

I’m sorry, sir, but you will have to vacate your vehicle. A jeep will be here in a moment to take you to your office.

What about the rest of my team? Corman asked.

They will be brought to you, the guard said.

But I have materials here—books and journals that I need.

They will be brought to you as soon as they have been cleared, the guard stated flatly.

Corman could see there would be no bypassing security at this point. Do I need to wear a hood? he teased.

Sir? The guard cocked his head in confusion.

The look Corman saw on the guard’s face was humorless. He let the matter drop. Never mind. He exited his green Land Rover and handed the keys to the guard.

A moment later, a jeep pulled to a stop at the gate, and an officer pulled his tall frame out of the vehicle. He was clean, well-built, and unflinching and carried himself with determined calm. Sir, my name is Lieutenant Christopher Stilles. I will be your driver while you are on base.

I see. Will I be allowed to walk on occasion during my appointed rounds? Corman asked.

No, sir. I will be your driver while you are on base. Stilles turned to the gate guard. That will be all, Sergeant. Please have the materials the doctor requested sent to his office as soon as they have cleared and arrange for the rest of the team to meet him in the conference room in annex number two in thirty minutes.

Sir. The guard saluted and retreated back inside the guardhouse.

Corman climbed into the jeep. Is there really such a need for this, Lieutenant? I’m sure you have other duties you need to concern yourself with.

No, sir. In fact, I have been chosen to head your security detail. Your security is my duty, sir. Stilles climbed into the driver seat, and the jeep lurched away.

Corman looked at his new bodyguard. There is not much here for conversation, is there?

Sir? Stilles tilted his head.

Well, your guards are humorless, and you seem a bit too stiff for my comfort level. We’re all still people, you know.

Stilles pulled the jeep to a stop, out of the way of the oncoming traffic. We need to be clear on some things, sir. First, while we are on base, we do not have a sense of humor. Second, I am the head of your security detail. If there is a concern I should be aware of, it will be the safety of you and your team. I am not given the information necessary for me to know more. If you have questions regarding your safety, ask me. Your other questions will be addressed to General Lorris. Stilles turned to Corman. Will there be anything else, sir?

Corman smiled. No, thank you. At least he understood where he was with his driver. Stilles pulled back onto the road. The rest of the trip was made in silence.

They pulled to a stop in front of the main administration building. Your office is on the second floor, and your door is already stenciled. You will find a parcel on your desk outlining the security levels of you and your team. Your phone will have numbers programmed for you, and one of those numbers is a direct contact to me. Please call me in ten minutes for your ride to the annex building.

Thank you, Corman responded.

Stilles nodded and drove away.

Corman walked up the steps and into the building and was hit with the smell of old cleaners and the subdued sounds of office traffic and snappy conversations. When he reached his office, the door was open with a set of keys taped to the back of the door. There were no decorations. He grimaced as he observed the only furnishings were the standard wooden desk, an old green telephone, and three sun-bleached fabric, stale-looking office chairs. The office appeared, at first glance, sterile. An unlabeled parcel sat perfectly in the middle of the desk. Inside was a key card, a small pamphlet on the base information, a list of emergency contacts, and a map indicating areas off limits to nonmilitary personnel. He picked up the phone and dialed for his driver.

As Stilles pulled to a stop, Corman asked, Do we have enough time to get some coffee before I attend the meeting?

There is already coffee in the conference room for you, sir, Stilles replied.

Corman looked at his driver but said nothing. The three-minute drive was made in silence. When he arrived, there were already people milling about, making hushed conversations as though waiting for the arrival of the drill instructor. The doors were closed, but two guards remained inside. Gentlemen, Corman addressed the guards, this is supposed to be a meeting with my staff. That requires privacy. You don’t have to stay. In fact, I would prefer you not to stay.

One guard spoke up, Sir, we have our orders.

Then I suggest you get on your cell phone or whatever it is you use to contact your superiors, or I will contact General Lorris and have those orders changed. When neither man moved, Corman stepped forward. Perhaps I have not been clear. The research I and that of my team are putting together has been directed as classified information. Now, either leave the room, or I will place a call to General Lorris and have you escorted out, and you will never be in contact with me again.

One guard dialed a number, and the response was immediate. Yes, sir. He put the phone away. Sir, I apologize.

Don’t apologize, just leave, Corman said. He was already getting tired of the military presence hovering and nosing about like a bunch of prison guards waiting to react to a jailbreak.

Yes, sir. Both guards walked out, securing the door behind them.

Corman turned to the rest of the people in the room, about thirty in all. Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. We have ground to cover and not much time to do it in. Some of you know me, but for those who don’t, introductions will wait. As you already know my name, you also know I am in charge of directing the research. You all answer only to me. None of the military personnel here will issue orders. If that is to change, the orders will come from General Lorris, and only if I am not in the room to confirm them. When that occasion arises, you will be notified in advance. We’ll start by identifying our projects and go from there. Corman poured himself a cup of coffee. He knew this was going to be a long meeting.

After five hours of discussion and addressing security levels and the projects to be engaged in, the meeting finally ended. Corman agreed to visit all the labs before the projects were started. As no one would be allowed to leave the base without strict scrutiny while the projects were in full operation, the last order of business was the living quarter assignments. The rest of the arrangements would wait until tomorrow.

Five in the morning came, and Corman was up and starting to plan his day. His materials had not yet been cleared, but he was allowed a computer for his office. He understood, of course, that there would be no information on the hard drive, and any information software he installed would be closely regulated. When he arrived at his office, he found a computer already set up for him, and as expected, the drives were clean except for email access. He was about to close up and start his rounds when he heard a ping on the computer. He turned on the screen and found a live chat program he hadn’t seen before, with a short message saying, Don’t trust Lorris.

Who is this? Corman typed. A long moment went by with no response. He was about to chalk it up as a hoax when another ping sounded.

Even the army intelligence has a back door that can be bypassed, the message said.

WHO IS THIS? Corman typed.

Find the file on Operation Chinatrade. Trust no one.

Who are you? Corman typed. He waited for a long moment, but no response came back. He checked the computer drives and diagnostics for any internet traffic, and all drives were clean, nothing was detected. Corman took a step back from the desk. So you know how to cover your tracks, he thought aloud. Clever. Corman had heard of some programmers that were able to do such things, but he knew there was always a trace that was left behind. This time, there was nothing, and that told him this was a hacker who had found a way in and was smart enough to stay invisible. How could this hacker have known so quickly there was anything going on here after only one day? After a moment of silent thought, he turned off his computer and stepped out of his office on his appointed rounds. It was a mystery to figure out later.

2

The sun was shining brightly over the hilltops. It was a crisp and beautiful morning like any other in spring, but not for Tobias Johns. This morning, for him, was another filled with pain and dark, terrible vis ions.

He placed his hands on his bald head and squeezed as he knelt in his darkened cabin, trying to keep what felt like a thousand electrical pins from driving into his brain and pushing him to the point of madness. He crouched on the front room floor of his little Utica, Montana flat and tried to keep from screaming from the agony that overwhelmed him. After thirty minutes of whimpering and hyperventilation to manage his distress, the pain finally started to subside. He was able to find his concentration again. He breathed deeply for a couple of minutes, relieved as the pain ebbed. He slowly raised himself back to a standing position and opened the curtains. His vision shifted, and his eyes cleared as the fog in his brain slowly dissipated. He looked between the jack pines to see several people working on a section of ground that would soon be a road. It was good to see them working and enjoying the day because he knew, as sure as his painful visions told him, that the final chapter of the empires of man was being written. The days of life without worry were coming to an end.

Tobias was a kind of spiritual leader here, or maybe a fanatical figurehead; he wasn’t really sure. All he knew was there were others who believed in the visions he had about the coming societal breakdown—about the future. They had chosen to follow his word as surely as if they had found their new messiah. That was why he chose this remote location. No one on the outside cared who he was or if he was going to lead an army against the new world order, as his visions told him that an army would be essential for the preservation of their way of life. Those who truly believed would find themselves here where he could teach them. His activities would go unnoticed here. He could build and train without the examination of those who thought themselves to be above reproach, those in a position of authority. He could teach people how to survive the critical time . . . and how to rebuild.

He pulled some clothing over his aching muscles, being careful to restrict the effort he used in order to keep it from shooting another wave of wildfire into his brain and sending him into another fit of paralyzing torment. Once dressed, he sat at his kitchen table and wrote in his journal, as he did every time he had these excruciating visions, trying to capture every detail. He wanted to be sure he had written as much as his sanity-challenged mind would allow so he could be certain he was doing what was required of him, what he felt to be right.

He knew no reasons why he should be having these visions. He only knew that if he ignored them, they would consume his sanity as surely as a maddened serial killer would be driven to kill, without ever really knowing why—just to quell the anguish of his plagued mind. He never considered himself to be a murderer, always felt there was another solution even in the face of extreme difficulties, but he could see how easily a man could be driven to such a terrible extreme. One thing he did understand: According to his visions, when the time came, men of all creeds would be driven to extremes of the darkest parts of human nature. Morality, humility, and compassion would be concepts no longer relevant to the continued existence of any society. The dead would not be recorded as victims of some homicidal intent but as casualties of war. It would be a terrible conflict that would rewrite the definitions of words like humanity, civility, and murder. His visions also showed, with terrible clarity, that no one would be spared the chaos. The rich and the poor, the powerful and the weak—all would be brought down. It would be a dark time when the fight would be not to protect liberty or property but to stay alive one more day.

There was a knock at the door. Two minutes, please, Tobias called back. He finished writing, closed the book, and replaced it in his hutch drawer. He turned on his computer as he made his way to the front door.

When he opened the door, he was greeted by Carmen. She was an attractive young Caucasian girl with long raven-black hair pulled tight into a ponytail. She immediately noticed the flushed face of her leader. Sir, are you alright? Her concern was genuine.

I’ll be fine, just another headache, Tobias assured her. What can I do for you, Carmen?

Her name was Carmen Foulger, and she was one of the first members of the congregation to join his cause. She was a visionary, as he was, but she had no visions to drive her determination. The visions Tobias described reinforced what Carmen believed, what she was taught by her grandfather, that there would be a time of social collapse. In the year and a half she had been with him, she proved her determination and commitment through her hard work, leadership, and clear display of loyalty to Tobias and his cause, no matter what path that cause may take. Her strengths were unquestioned. She moved quickly through the ranks of his company of partisan saviors because of them, just as she had proven her ability to enforce a strict code of honor and discipline. As a result, she had earned the respect of all whom she commanded. You missed the morning address, and the others thought I should check on you. They worry you might be ill. Though there would always be a chain of command for the necessity of leadership, in private, Carmen was allowed the special privilege of speaking casually with Tobias. The trust was mutual, but there was also a line Carmen would not cross.

I apologize for that, Tobias replied, but when the visions happen, I cannot refuse to listen to their wisdom. I will address the gathering at lunch, and we’ll talk about what the future holds for us, and the path we will take when it’s time to take it. For now, it’s time to start the training.

Carmen seemed satisfied with this response and nodded her understanding. Will you be joining us?

Not this time. Take the team to the mountain. I want them to train with rifles and explosives today. Continue with the instruction on power supply stations. Afterward, take them on a run to the river, and you’ll find me there. That’s where I need to be today.

Yes, sir. We’ll meet you there. Carmen nodded and marched off to her tasks.

Tobias followed close behind her, watching all the activity in the camp and trying to note anything out of place. As they neared the central camp area, they parted company, and Carmen joined the team in the morning calisthenics. The team, if such was the proper term, consisted of about one hundred fifty men and women, most of whom were believers of the visions that Tobias shared with them. The rest were lost souls looking for nothing more than a place to belong or a place to hide. Each day, their numbers increased, more volunteers added to the bulwark of an uncertain tomorrow.

The camp itself consisted of two barracks, four storage sheds for various supplies and equipment, and a grand mess hall where the team could eat and attend classes, and where all were given the opportunity to talk about the visions and what was expected during the coming of the time of troubles. There was even a large blacksmith and tool shop, a small shed used as the first aid office, and a greenhouse for growing spices or plants that might be used in basic field medicine. On the far north side of the camp, there were fields used for growing crops and livestock, but the diet was mostly vegetarian to keep the base fed. This was the main base of operations, always appearing as though this location was nothing more than a small community trying to cultivate their own place in the world. Even when the team was away to conduct operations, a skeleton crew would keep this base in operation to keep the base secret and running for any returning personnel. There were few members of the congregation who had a place to call their own. Tobias had the largest flat because he required privacy. Carmen had her own place to rest, as well as two others who acted as company commanders when the team was on training maneuvers.

Tobias watched as Carmen led the team on the next set of exercises designed to increase endurance and pain tolerance. Her commands were crisp and her stance like a pillar of stone, her voice clear and loud as that of a drill sergeant, and responses to her commands were sharp and without hesitation. She had no trouble commanding anyone who stood before her. Tobias was impressed with the progress she had made, how she had taken a group of mushy butt armchair warriors and turned them into a determined power for revolution. Tobias admired her and felt there was no one who could have done the job as she had done. He felt she was a mysterious and fascinating woman that made his curiosity burn just a little brighter. If it had been another time, in another part of the world, he might have pursued her as a love interest, but that was not going to be the case here. He needed her for her obvious talents. With the migraines he had to endure, he doubted he had much time left for such pursuits anyway.

Tobias arrived at the river’s edge where the rest of the team was expected and removed his shoes. The gravel at the water’s edge was small water-worn particulate but still sharp. He worked carefully forward, slowly stepping into the fast-flowing water. The initial shock of the cold water flowing over his bare skin was almost enough to take his breath away, but he caught himself enough to enjoy the sensation and wonder at the feeling of euphoria that flooded through him. The throbbing he felt in his head also seemed to subside just a little, making the bright of the day and the heat of the afternoon sun less burdensome. The water was cleansing to both body and soul. There could be no way he could think of to describe such a feeling—a feeling that could only be known from the experience of it. If his latest visions would prove to be correct as others had been in the past, then he would soon feel some regret as this may be the last time he would enjoy such a simple pleasure.

After a few minutes, he returned to dry ground and sat on a large rock at the shoreline and replaced his shoes, listening to the gurgle of the water and the rustle of light wind through the trees. Moments later, he could hear the sounds of the first of Carmen’s team of fifty men and women marching down the hillside to the water’s edge where they waited for the order to remove all packs and equipment. Carmen soon joined Tobias on the rock, while the second team commander, followed by the others, organized the arrivals into columns along the shoreline. They completed their roundup and waited for the word to be given to enter the water to clean up. As soon as all were accounted for, the word was given, and all trainees except Carmen stripped off their gear and entered the water to let the water wash away the sweat and grit from the morning exercises.

Tobias and Carmen walked away from the others where they would not be overheard. The visions are getting worse. I find it difficult now to control the pain each one causes. I think my time here will be shorter than expected, Tobias said.

Are you telling me that we’ll have to move to find another camp? Carmen asked.

No. I am saying that we will have to move soon and start making plans to put all our training to the task. I think you will be the one to lead these people in their missions. The pain I feel makes me think I’m dying, but somehow, I always open my eyes, and I’m still here. The things I see are terrible, as we have seen that some of those things I see can come true, but all is not to be so easily predicted. Events will happen that we cannot stop.

I don’t understand what you mean. Carmen didn’t hide her confusion. We have been training for a long time now, and most of these people are ready for you to lead them where we need to go. When do you think these events are going to happen?

That is difficult to say. I see the events that may be, but I have seen that these events will be taking place without my being there to observe them. We are not always given to know what events will be or why; planning doesn’t fix that. We have to be ready to take on the challenges that are tasked to us.

But when we talk about your visions of the future, you say they are only possibilities, that there’s still time, Carmen said.

"But that’s not what we need to think about. You are missing the point; I would prefer not to have visions at all. I can’t stop thinking that if even a tiny part of that possible future is unavoidable because of everything we have done, then it doesn’t matter in the end. It doesn’t matter if most of the predictions are wrong, Carmen; only one prediction has to be right. Even if all the predictions are false, the scientific evidence presented doesn’t lie. The cause and effect we have initiated has put us on a course that can no longer be ignored or altered, and the events that I described during our meetings will happen. We have already reached the tipping point. Tobias watched the lights go on in Carmen’s mind. You see now."

Yes, but shouldn’t we tell the others what we are preparing for?

No, Tobias said.

But why?

For many reasons, Carmen. Not the least of which would be fear, frustration, loss of hope, and the destruction that would follow. We might just find that the people we are fighting are those we have sworn to protect. I can’t give them that kind of cruelty. Today, we all have a reason to hope, but in the weeks to come, we will each have to find our own reasons to live. But enough of that, we can talk later about it. Is your team ready to do what needs to be done when the time comes?

They will do as they have been ordered and as they have trained to do, Carmen said. They are ready.

Time will tell, and I think that time is coming soon. They returned to the gathering. Few words were spoken as they all gathered their gear and set off for the return to the camp.

As dusk was creeping over the ridge, all the warriors in training returned to the main camp and started to make ready the central training courtyard for the evening exercises; in this case, those who wanted to test their strength against each other in wrestling matches. There were no prizes, of course, except bragging