The Coming

By Kevin J. Kurtz

Mark Mallory is a junior reporter for the Des Moines Register who gets a big break to investigate a local crop circle anomaly. His research leads him to a nearby town with an active military missile silo on the property and reported UFO sightings. From here, Mark is followed by the Department of Homeland Security, his computer hacked, and apartment bugged.
Mark makes four new friends from Iowa State University; Beth, Sam, J.T. and Raj, who share his passion for sci-fi. They offer to lend their skills to help Mark uncover the secrets of the U.S. military shadow agencies and UFO’s. Beth and Sam almost die when Sam’s car brake-line is severed. Mark knows the government will stop at nothing to keep their secrets hidden.
J.T. and Raj discover a cryptic message in a crop circle --
He’s Coming. Mark’s dormant faith is challenged by the revealed message. Is this the man of destruction described in scripture who brings the apocalypse? How is the crop circle message, UFO’s, and the military all connected?
With the fate of the world in the balance, will Mark have time to learn the truth and reveal the Bibles darkest mystery?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Feb 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781490799636

Kevin J. Kurtz

The Appearing is my sixth published book and third in a series of speculative fiction novels featuring my twist on biblical end times prophecies. My goal is to create engaging characters that the reader will care about and be invested in their outcome. The novels are written as suspenseful page-turners for an entertaining read. Actual settings and events are woven into the plot to set a tone of realism. For more personal info about me, check my website: KevinJKurtz.com.

Book preview

THE

COMING

KEVIN J. KURTZ

©

Copyright 2020 Kevin J. Kurtz.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4907-9964-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-9965-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-9963-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020902920

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Trafford rev. 10/15/2020

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

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

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

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My greatest thanks goes out to Sue Clark, my editor and friend. Sue spent many hours poring over this manuscript, helping me develop the characters and create vivid scenes that would keep the reader in suspense and wanting more.

I also want to thank God for creating a vast universe full of stars and potential worlds that allows me to ponder the role mankind plays in the mystery of his master plan. This book is just a creative interpretation of the story he has already written.

And last, I’d like to acknowledge a man I’ve never personally met, Frank Peretti. Frank wrote a book called, This Present Darkness, back in the 80’s that opened my mind to speculative fiction and the power of a great story revealing an element of truth. A few of my characters pay homage to his book.

PROLOGUE

Virgin Airways Flight A320 left Heathrow Airport at 10:38 p.m. on July 19, bound for La Guardia Airport. Here is the transcript of that flight. The following details are still being investigated by British Aviation and the FAA.

CHAPTER 1

Alien invaders lined up in attack formation, swooping in from the sky dropping their neutron bombs on the planet below. Earth’s defense barriers fired laser cannons at the spaceships, hoping to destroy the craft or detonate the dropped bombs before impact. The ships darted in and out, like swarming insects, making for elusive targets.

Mark Mallory, Junior Reporter for the Des Moines Register, showed ambidextrous skill as he moved his fingers across the control board, racking up extra credit points in this Retro game of Galaga. If his Senior Editor walked by, Mark had a kill switch that reverted his PC back to a Luke Skywalker screensaver. He had muted the chirps and beeps that helped make this video game popular decades ago.

He turned off the game, stretched, and headed for the breakroom. A baker’s box with four donuts remained from the morning’s managers meeting. Mark selected a chocolate glaze and took a big bite. Chocolate flakes from his fingers fell to the tile floor.

He turned on the flatscreen attached to the wall and a local television station appeared.

We have a special Good Morning report for you viewers. We’re going live now to Christine O’Connell in Ames. Christine, what do you have for us?

Thanks, Bob. I’m standing in the middle of a crop circle with Bill Cormack, surrounded by cornstalks, at the Cormack Family Farms. Mr. Cormack, can you tell us what happened here?

Mark followed the camera as it panned from the fields of ripe corn to a farmer with a flattened cornfield behind him.

I don’t know what happened. I’m getting ready for harvest. I come out this morning to find my corn pushed down.

Christine pointed to the depression where the stalks once stood and the camera zoomed in. It looks like some kind of pattern. Some crop circles have very intricate designs. Christine held out the microphone for Bill to respond.

Bill scratched his head. I wouldn’t know anything about that.

Do you have any idea who might have done this?

Bill Cormack frowned. Folks I know around here are hard working. They don’t have time for this.

Ted Jenkins walked into the breakroom. Ted Jenkins who always seemed to land the best news stories. Ted Jenkins, handsome, athletic, drove a nice car, and dated beautiful women.

Mark wished he could offer some coffee to Ted, then pour it over his head.

Hey, Mallory, whatcha watching? Ted reached for a vitamin water in the refrigerator.

Mark finished the last bite of his donut. It’s a crop circle in Ames.

Ted smirked. Crop circles? Do they think aliens caused them?

Could be. I can’t hear what she’s saying.

Ted snorted. You don’t seriously believe that stuff? What a joke. He started to leave, then turned toward Mark. Hey, weren’t you covering that lost cat story? I guess it got pretty interesting when they found it up a tree. I gotta go. Covering the warehouse fire. Could be arson. Figured it’ll probably be hot out there so I’ll grab a water. See ya.

Mark watched Ted leave the breakroom. He could imagine Ted at the warehouse fire and getting too close to the flames. There’s an explosion. Whoops, no more Ted.

Mark turned back to the flatscreen, feeling guilty for his thoughts of Ted’s demise. The reporter was making her final comments.

We didn’t find any aliens here at the crop circle in the Cormack cornfields. It will remain a mystery as to what caused the circles. Reporting live in Ames, I’m Christine O’Connell. The camera zoomed in on the reporter and a forlorn-looking Bill Cormack.

Mark had an inspiration. He ran to his cubicle past the other eight Junior Reporters working in the bullpen of the Des Moines Register and jotted down some ideas on his notepad — check for repeating designs, take measurements, test for radioactivity.

He looked up to his top shelf at the row of miniature Star Wars figurines. He picked up Yoda, rubbed it for luck, then placed it back on the shelf before heading to the office of Zachary Miller, Senior Editor.

Miller’s office occupied a second floor corner with a large glass window that overlooked the reporter bullpen. Mark imagined that Miller sat up here observing the crew like God watching his children from heaven.

Mark reached for the door, hesitated, then knocked.

In. Zach Miller had no time for wasted words or sentiment. He shuffled story boards across the desk as Mark entered.

Mark waited for the editor to look up or acknowledge him in some way. He coughed. Excuse me, sir? I, uh, have an idea for a story.

Zach Miller lifted his gaze, glasses on the tip of his nose.

Um, there was a crop circle in Ames. I’d like to go there and investigate. I can play up the local interest and human angle.

Zach Miller looked straight at Mark. Mallory, Junior Reporter. Does the Iowa Life piece. You ready for a story like this? It’s a big jump from coupon clippings to crop circles.

Mark didn’t know if he should be offended. Yes, sir.

Good. I want five hundred words on my desk by four o’clock. And pictures.

Mark wrung his hands. Yes, sir.

Zachary Miller picked up the story boards. Conversation over.

Mark concentrated on keeping his feet on the ground as he returned to his desk to plan his next move.

CHAPTER 2

Mark Mallory, Investigative Reporter. It had a nice sound to it. He practiced writing this in his notepad before doing a Google search for the Cormack Farms. He picked up the desk phone and dialed the listed number.

On the second ring, a woman picked up. Hello. Cormack Family Farms.

This is Mark Mallory with the Des Moines Register. We heard you’ve had a little excitement up there and we’d like to run an investigative piece on it.

Well, I can’t imagine corn stalks being exciting.

Is this Mrs. Cormack?

Yes.

Mrs. Cormack, I saw the News 10 report this morning about a crop circle in your corn fields. Did you know there have been crop circle sightings in other counties in Iowa and neighboring states? In fact, the phenomenon is found around the world.

I didn’t know that.

Ma’am, this may just be a prank done by some teenagers. But I’d sure like to come up there to find out.

I don’t think my husband wants any more attention brought to the farm.

"I can appreciate that, Mrs. Cormack. I won’t bring any cameras or TV crews. I only want to find the truth.

Mrs. Cormack paused. I guess that’ll be alright.

I’ll be there in thirty minutes.

Mark stopped by Marsha Higgins’ desk on his way out. Hey, Marsha, you still have that Geiger counter you used on the Dreyer Lab story and the radiation leak?

Yeah, I rented it. Oh, geez, I forgot to return it. Marsha rummaged in her bottom drawer and pulled out a bright yellow metallic box about the size of a lunch pail. She started to hand it to Mark, then pulled the Geiger back. What are you going to do with it?

I need it for a story.

Marsha laughed. For what? A radioactive rabbit?

Very funny.

I can see the headline, Marsha said. Mallory and the Glowing Menace.

You going to give it to me, or not?

Alright. No need to get sensitive. Marsha tilted her head. Hey, what are you writing about?

Just show me how to use it, okay?

You turn it on here, and read the dial zero to ten. If you’re around anything radioactive, you’ll hear it click and this meter will move. She handed it to Mark. You have to pay the late fees when you return it.

Mark headed toward the door.

Hey, Mallory, Marsha said, Wherever you’re going, if the Geiger hits ten, better get out before your face melts off.

Mark put the Geiger device and his notepad on the passenger seat of his 2002 Mazda and drove north on Interstate 35 past Iowa State University to Route 38 where he turned east and followed his GPS toward Cormack Family Farms.

Once past the city of Ames, row after row of corn fields dominated both sides of the road. Some harvested green stalks looked naked and bare, with only wispy strands of corn silk to cover them.

The air was still on a hot September morning. Even though his AC was blowing mostly hot air because his coolant needed to be recharged, Mark felt a prick of cold air go up his spine.

He pulled over to the shoulder of the road. Cornstalks started where the asphalt ended. No other vehicles were in sight. His GPS showed 1.4 miles to the listed address. Mark grabbed his notepad and the Geiger, and stepped into the cornfields.

The harvested stalks didn’t move in the still autumn day. Mark continued down the row about a hundred yards, then stopped. This is stupid. I could get lost out here.

He started back toward his car, when a movement to the right caught his eye. Corn stalks rustled.

Hello. Is anyone there? I’m a reporter from the Des Moines Register. I’m not trespassing.

Probably just a rat, Mark figured. The other half of his brain responded with, that was a really big rat. He listened for more movement to reveal the location of whatever loomed nearby.

Silence. Mark felt the hair on his neck tingle, as if static electricity energized the air. He sensed he was being watched. Fear, irrational fear, gripped him and wrenched his stomach. He stood motionless, unable to move, waiting for something to jump out and rip his throat.

CHAPTER 3

Mark’s heart beat faster — his breathing became rapid and shallow, and his adrenal glands pumped a chemical cocktail into his body. Fight or flight? Mark chose flight.

He ran back in the direction he came with hands upraised to protect his face from thrashing corn stalks. And anything else that might jump out, and bite him, and devour his entrails.

He stumbled past the last rows of corn and fell onto the paved road. He looked up and down Route 38 until he spotted his car about fifty feet back. Once at the car door, Mark fumbled, trying to get the keys out of his pocket and into the lock.

He had to use his left hand to steady the key in the ignition. The car started and the wheels screeched as he floored the accelerator, pushing all four cylinders to maximum output. Mark glanced as he passed the corn fields he’d just escaped from, imagining a beast bursting onto the road behind him.

A sign up ahead read Cormack Family Farms. Mark turned onto an asphalt driveway. A two-story ranch house appeared up ahead with a wrap-around porch. He guessed it was built in the 1920s.

Mark turned off the ignition and tried to compose himself. Sweat pooled under his arms and dripped down his face. He opened the glove box, pushed aside ketchup packets to find a Burger King napkin. He wiped his face.

Well-manicured rose bushes climbing the wood lattice in front of the wrap-around porch. Two large oak trees stood sentry at the west and east end of the house providing shade with their full branches. He stepped onto the porch and rang the doorbell next to a beveled glass door encased in dark oak wood.

A woman, with her hair in a pony-tail, answered the door. Mark guessed by the few strands of gray hair that she was in her mid-forties, but still attractive.

Misses Cormack? I’m Mark Mallory. We spoke on the phone.

Yes, come in. She ushered Mark into a parlor off the entrance hall. A china cabinet with a curved front and glass panel lined one wall. On the opposite end sat an oak roll-top desk and a matching swivel chair. A burgundy oriental rug covered the floor.

Please, have a seat. Mrs. Cormack pointed to one of two upholstered chairs in the room. May I offer you some iced tea? This Indian Summer we’re having is making for warm days.

Mark felt his face to see if he was dripping sweat. Yes, iced tea would be nice. Thank you. The air conditioning in my car is on the fritz. It was a hot drive over here.

He worried about his clothes sticking to the nice furniture as Mrs. Cormack left the room.

Soon, Mrs. Cormack returned with two glasses of iced tea on a silver tray. I drink iced tea all year round, she said. I get that from my mother. But in the summer, it’s especially refreshing. I didn’t ask if you wanted sugar or lemon.

Oh, no, unsweetened is perfect. Just the way I like it. Mark thought of how many grams of artificial sweetener were in the soft drinks he drank every day. Or the donuts. He could feel his arteries corroding. Misses Cormack…

Please, Misses Cormack makes me sound old. You can call me Louise.

Okay, Louise, I saw your husband on TV this morning. I think there’s a bigger story than what the TV girl presented. Is your husband here?

Bill went out to the south field this morning. That was the field to be harvested, before all of this. Louise looked out the window. He should be returning soon for lunch. I always make him an early lunch. She shifted in her chair. You mentioned a bigger story. We don’t need to have any more attention drawn to us.

No, ma’am. That’s not my intent. But the television reporter this morning, well, she just seemed…glib. Mark was careful not to scare Louise with the next thing he said.

At other crop circle sightings, there have been low levels of radioactivity.

Oh, my.

It’s hard to explain radioactivity if it’s only a hoax.

May I ask you a question? Louise said.

Mark was a little surprised. Of course.

What is your interest in these circles? Why come out here to our farm?

Mark took a sip of tea. That’s a fair question. I’ve been interested in stuff like this since I was a teenager. When I heard the news story, so close to home, I wanted to see for myself.

At that moment, the rattle of a truck engine approached the farm house.

CHAPTER 4

Louise stood. That would be my husband.

Heavy boots came up the porch before the door opened. Mark followed her into the hallway.

How are things in the south fields? Louise greeted her husband.

Bill Cormack took off his cap. I told the crew to finish harvesting, then cut down the stalks. I don’t want my farm turned into a laughing stock.

Mark noticed the frown on Bill Cormack’s face. He looked a few years older than his wife, but Mark thought that could be due to the weathered look of a man who’d tilled the earth for a living in the heat of the day.

Bill, this is Mark Mallory. He’s from the Des Moines Register.

Bill glared at Mark. A reporter? I don’t care much for reporters. Had one here this morning. Talked to me as if it was a big joke. Made me look like a fool. Bill slammed the front door shut behind him.

Mark stepped forward. Sir, that’s why I’m here. I saw Christine O’Connell’s news report. I thought she…ah…failed to see the bigger story.

Bill glared at Mark. What’s your angle in all of this?

Well, sir, I’d like to portray you…and the farm, in a more positive light.

And how you figure to do that?

I can write a piece that describes the work you do here, how it helps the community…the world.

Son, Cormack’s have been tilling this land for five generations. My grandfather built this house. It’s in our blood. But don’t feed me no line about the world wanting to know about corn.

Louise moved closer to her husband. Bill, how ’bout I make you a sandwich? There’s some chicken left over.

Bill pointed his finger at Mark. I asked you a question. What’s your angle?

Mark shifted his feet. I wanted to see the crop circle up close. Run some tests.

Some tests? For what?

Radiation.

Bill squeezed his cap. Boy, have you lost your mind? Why would I want word to get out that I’ve got tainted crops over some stupid prank?

I don’t think it was a prank.

And what makes you the expert?

Because I’ve been studying crop circles since I was twelve. Crop circles have been discovered around the world. Some are hoaxes. But there are enough that can’t be easily explained. In those cases, low levels of radiation were detected.

Mark could see a vein protrude on Bill Cormack’s forehead as he rung his cap.

Mark spoke fast before he got punched. Low levels…not enough to harm humans, or crops. Mark pointed out the window by the door. I’ve brought a Geiger counter. We’d know in a few minutes.

At that moment, another car pulled into the driveway. Louise peered out the front window to see who was there. As she did, Mark noticed family pictures on the wall in the entrance hall, and one in particular—a young woman with long brunette hair and hazel eyes in a high school senior class portrait.

It’s Pastor Shields. She opened the door and stepped onto the porch. Bill and Mark joined her.

A man in his early forties got out of a maroon 2008 Honda Accord. Sorry for just stopping by. Pastor Shields walked toward the house.

You’re welcome anytime, Pastor, Louise said.

Pastor Shields hugged her and shook Bill’s hand in a firm grip. Thought I’d come out and see the TV star.

Bill scrunched his face and gripped his cap.

Mark stepped forward and offered his hand. Hi, I’m Mark. Mark Mallory from the Des Moines Register.

Pastor Shields smiled. From Des Moines? You must think there’s a story for you to come out here.