The Genesis Project: The End of Times Trilogy

By David Kruse

Travel with Father Olin Masterson as he is pulled from his chaplain duties in South Carolina and taken to a top-secret underground base somewhere in the desert southwest. He soon discovers dimensions no one has ever seen. He spiritually travels back in time to explore ancient Eden platforms. Follow him as he witnesses the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah live and in technicolor. Take a ride with him on a godship at fifty-seven times the speed of light, thanks to an artifact excavated from the Dead Sea.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9781646540280

Book preview

Chapter 1

Secret What?

Why would the Israelis give us their artifacts? Father Olin asked his magic eight ball.

It didn’t take him long to figure out that the little black orb had no answers or at least none related to the question. Nothing about his current situation made any sense, especially why the men in black would want a priest inside their supersecret society. With enough curiosity to kill a dozen cats and a ton of unanswered questions, Father Olin leaned over the desk and held down the intercom.

Betty, send in Colonel Abernathy.

Right away, Father.

The good father had emptied his desk, shredded the top-secret documents, and finished filling the burn bags in preparation for his final departure when he heard the colonel’s knock.

Enter.

Seconds later, the colonel blew through the door with the grace of a water buffalo.

Colonel Abernathy reporting, Your Highness.

Is that any way to address an army priest?

You weren’t always a priest. There was a time when you were a real soldier who almost bought the farm, earning that little medal on your chest.

Well, you won’t have to listen to my war stories anymore, but I do need one last favor.

Ask and ye shall receive.

I need a ride over to the Metro.

Does this mean I get to sit behind the big desk?

"Between you, me, and the gatepost, you’d already be sitting here if you knew the meaning of the word tact."

"Tact is for politicians."

So now you’re calling me a politician? What did I ever do to you?

Nothing. Of all the officers in the army, you’re the best. Hell, if you get any better, you might make a first-rate sergeant someday.

Enough of the butt kissing, Milton. Now, do you have any real questions before I’m gone?

I was hoping you might explain the 800-pound gorilla in the room.

What gorilla?

Those crosses on your collar. Are they still valid, or have you gone over to the dark side?

If I told you what’s really going on, I’d have to kill you, Father Olin jokingly said as he bent down and tapped the intercom for a second time.

Betty, send in PFC Brady, and while you’re at it, round up the rest of the staff.

Right away, sir.

When the PFC arrived, Father Olin handed him the burn bags and made small talk about the company softball team. This lasted until the rest of the crew showed up, at which time, the father offered a farewell blessing along with bottles of Yoo-hoos and coconut-covered snowballs. After the goodbyes and watery eyes, Father Olin issued forty-eight-hour passes and dismissed his little unit for the last time.

Does that forty-eight apply to me, Father?

I’ve got something better for you, Colonel. You can get us a car from the motor pool and spend some quality time with me after I clear G2’s army intelligence.

Are you sure you’ll need a car today?

Why wouldn’t I?

Those intelligence goofs at G2 are slower than molasses in January.

I assure you it won’t take long. Besides, the walk will do me good. I want to get one last look at the base before someone pulls the handle.

There was nothing special about Fort Jackson, but like all his assignments, he had grown attached to the place, and the walk did prove to be therapeutic.

Upon his arrival into the spooky world of sanitized hallways and cipher-locked doors, he flashed his badge and headed to the out-processing section.

How may I help you, Father?

Well, Ernie, I need to get out of here before they learn my secret.

What secret?

The army is paying me for doing absolutely nothing.

Nonsense. You do more around here in five minutes than most of these officers do in a year.

After both men vented about the idiots running the army, Father Olin began the clearing process. He was worried that this would be an ordeal, but thanks to his special orders, the spooks cleared him faster than a tennis ball through a potato cannon. Before he could count to ten, he was outside the compound and on his way to the motor pool.

He liked the pool because of the sounds his shoes made as he walked across the gravel. The pool used to be paved, but because of damage done by heavy-tracked vehicles, post engineers removed the blacktop. With his mind and eyes focused on the ground, Father Olin walked into a Humvee and let loose with a couple of his old favorite grunt curses.

Awww. Did you get a boo-boo, Father?

Yes, I did, Colonel. Now get me to Columbia Metro before I bleed to death.

As you command, General, Father, or whatever the hell you are.

Did you remember to get my duffel bag?

It’s in the trunk next to the dead body.

Do I need to perform last rites?

Nah, he was a Lutheran.

Oh, in that case, we better drop him off at the chow hall. I hear they’re running low on mystery meat.

No way, Father. Lutherans give me indigestion.

On the drive to the airport, the two men knew it was likely that they were seeing each other for the last time. Military service slammed people together and then ripped them apart with nothing more than a set of orders. Both men were accustomed to this phenomenon, so they filled the trip with amusing jabs and silly insults designed to keep their emotions at bay.

Don’t worry about your plane not having any propellers. You’re going to be on one of those new-fangled jet airy planes.

Father Olin grinned, fished around in his briefcase, and handed the colonel an Obama bumper sticker.

What do you want me to do with this?

I’m sure you’ll find an appropriate venue for it.

The joking turned serious shortly after the men arrived at the airport. The padre and his old friend shook hands, nodded, and went their separate ways. The days when soldiers could unwind in airports vanished on 9/11 when a veil of Islamic sickness descended upon the world. Father Olin’s sadness over the rise of evil resulted in one lone teardrop. The tear was for the death of honor and civility in a world he no longer liked or understood. Cowardly Islamic terrorist acts, like the Fort Hood massacre, thrived in this new era of political correctness, and not even the chief of chaplains could stop it.

Thankfully, JJ’s cryptic memorandum switched Father Olin’s mind from the threat of terrorism and pulled his thoughts back to the uber-secret Genesis project. As he took his seat on the plane next to a young service member, he couldn’t help but wonder aloud about his upcoming assignment.

Why do the spooks need a priest?

What’s that, Father? Asked the young private.

Nothing, son. Just talking to the Lord.

Is he on this flight?

I believe he’s in first class next to that blond lady.

The elder priest and the young soldier formed a bond. Unlike most chaplains trapped in the realm of religious dogma, Olin’s combat experience helped him ease the young man’s fear of flying and made the flight go by faster. The chaplain felt pretty good about helping the soldier and remained in a good mood until the plane landed. His joy lasted until he made his way into the airport. That’s when a gaggle of suits unceremoniously ushered him into a black SUV. The unsolicited ride started off smooth but soon turned into a dusty bump fest when the driver veered onto a dirt road and tried to set a land speed record. At the point where the good father’s kidneys couldn’t take it anymore, the vehicle came to a halt.

Are we there yet?

No, Father, we’re waiting on a secure ride.

What’s wrong with this one?

Beats me. All I know is that there’s a special car on the way to take you to your destination.

Woohoo. Now, excuse me while I see a man about a horse.

On his way to heed the call of nature, the father stumbled and caught himself by grabbing a cactus. It didn’t require a PhD to ascertain that this was not a smart move.

Damn these godforsaken plants!

Before he finished plucking the barbs and asking the Lord’s forgiveness, he found himself smack dab in the middle of a biblical swarm of locusts.

Now what?

In answer to his question, the desert sprang to life with the little green eating machines as they swarmed in from the southwest. For a moment, he thought these tiny monsters would decimate the area and leave nothing but sand in their wake. His thoughts of a cactus-free desert vanished when he noticed that the disgusting creatures were impaling themselves on the cactus needles. He was so focused on this gruesome act that he hadn’t noticed the arrival of his secure transport.

Father, Father, over here.

What?

Your ride to the magic kingdom is here.

Hold your horses, Captain. I’m witnessing a miracle?

Really? All I see is a bunch of grasshoppers committing hara-kiri.

You missed the part where I tripped and stumbled into that cactus followed by my childish rant, but God didn’t miss it. He took time out of his busy schedule to teach me a lesson.

Did he teach you not to grab cactus?

No, Captain. The lesson is much deeper than that. God took time out of his busy schedule to teach me that everything has a purpose. Without these sticker plants, all those little green eating machines would eventually chew their way into the farm belt, devastate thousands of acres, and leave famine in their wake.

You might be right, Father, but I don’t see this as a miracle. To me, it’s just nature doing her thing.

There was a time in my life when I would’ve agreed with you, but things happened during the war that changed all that.

The priest stood amidst the plague of dying insects, humbled by God’s lesson, and after a few more pleas from the captain, Father Olin performed the cruciform sign and headed for the SUV.

Would you like some air?

That’d be nice. Even generals have to breathe.

On what he hoped was the final ride, Father Olin couldn’t help but feel ashamed. He laughed nervously at what most people would call coincidence, but he knew that it was a message from God.

Did something strike you funny, Father?

Forgive me. It’s been a long day, and I’ve reached the silly zone.

If that’s the case, you’ll be laughing like a hyena after a day in the area.

Area?

Yes, siree. Forts, bases, and camps weren’t good enough for those clowns in the black arts. They had to add ‘areas’ to the mix and tag them with numbers instead of names.

"Why would anyone do something that stupid? Numbering secret bases is like drawing an X on a treasure map."

I agree with you, Father, but the brain trust decided that the number system would confuse the MUFON crowd.

The who?

MUFON or Mutual UFO Network. They’re the group that’s always trying to spy on us.

This proves my theory.

What’s that, Father?

That most of the upper-echelon bureaucrats are as useless as teats on a boar hog and as worthless as army JAGs.

Boy, if that ain’t the truth, Chaplain. Where would our enemies be without support from our feckless army lawyers?

That’s a good question, Captain. The only time those gutless wonders ever see combat is with a bowl of popcorn and a recliner. If I were in charge and could make policy, they would serve a four-year hitch in the infantry before they could set one foot in a military courtroom.

Ouch! Eleven-bravo.

That’s right. Combat infantry, baby.

As if God were handing out another little slap, the car went through a dip and banged the priest’s head on the headrest.

Whoa.

Hang on, Father. It’s going to get rough for the next ten miles or so.

What’s up with that?

"The state highway guys aren’t cleared to work this sec-Ungh-tin," the captain stuttered as the car nose-dived into one of the washes skirting their path.

This might be a great place to build a road.

It’s worse than usual, Father. The army engineers do a fair job, but we’ve had unseasonal rains, which are washing out the arroyos, not to mention the effects of increased traffic.

I suppose I’m about to find out why there’s an increase in traffic.

There it is, Father, the captain said as he pointed to lights off in the distance.

We’re here?

Don’t get excited. We’ve still got thirty miles to go.

Jeez, it looks like it’s only about a mile away.

That’s the desert effect, Father, the captain said as he turned on the radio and cranked up the volume.

Holy mother! Consider me old-fashioned, but where I come from, that’s considered bad manners, not to mention the fact that your music should be outlawed, Captain.

It’s not me, Father. The radio station and the music were selected by his highness, General JJ.

I’ll bet the old coot did this just to annoy me, but what does a radio station have to do with security?

Some genius at NSA decided that transporter radios must harmonize with the guard shack radio, or it’s lights out.

Okay, I get it. What if the spy’s vehicle accidentally tunes to the right station?

There’s a special intermediate frequency IF section in our radios. Without the proper station and the modified IF block, he or she will cease to exist. And…if by some miracle, the enemy spy passes these tests, there’s still one more fail-safe.

What’s that?

This thing I’ve been wearing around my neck for the last three years, the captain said as he held up his special-access badge.

What if our fictitious enemy knocks you in the head and steals the badge along with the car?

Do you see this orange strip?

You’d have to be blind not to, son.

If someone else puts on the badge, the strip turns black. Here, grab it and see for yourself.

The instant the priest put his hand on the badge, it turned black.

Wow!

Yeah, wow. You better hope the same thing happens when the gate guard grabs it, or we’re toast.

The good father had reached the burnout point, so he turned his gaze from the captain to the moonlit desert. The desert scape tripped memories of his days at Fort Huachuca. His flashback was so real that he almost ended up in the front seat when the driver slammed on the brakes.

Wave both hands at the scary MP, Father.

Why both hands?

That’s to keep our car from being riddled with bullets.

The priest leaned forward, smiled, and waved at the gate guard.

When the vehicle inspection was over, the guard lowered his weapon, waited for another soldier to check under the vehicle, and eventually waved the duo through. The car advanced slowly on what appeared to be an abandoned air base with a smattering of abandoned buildings. The slow procession lasted for about a mile and finally came to a stop near a group of what appeared to be empty hangars.

There’s nothing around here, Captain. Why are you stopping?

Before the captain could answer, the rear seat slid back, and the floor under Father Olin’s feet parted like the Red Sea. Beneath the floor was a manhole cover that somehow lifted and slid toward the front of the car, exposing a hole in the tarmac. For some bizarre reason, the lifting of the cover reminded Father Olin of those old movies about curses and tombs in ancient Egypt.

Grab those handles, Father. Slide onto the ladder and climb down. I believe General JJ is waiting.

Why can’t I use an elevator like normal people?

Satellites, Padre. The big eye in the sky is always on the lookout.

Well, in case I don’t see you again, it’s been interesting, grasshoppers and all.

That it has, Father. Can I ask you a question before you go?

Shoot.

What do these spooks need with a chaplain?

Let me ask you a question.

Sure.

How does a priest end up in the desert climbing down an open manhole from inside an SUV in the middle of the night?

It sounds like we both suffer from mushroom syndrome.

The what?

Simply put. Mushrooms are kept in the dark and fed crap, which describes us to a tee. Oh, by the way, Father, wave your free hand about like a crazy person on your way down.

Why should I do that?

So the rattlers will strike your hand and not your face.

Thanks for the tip, I guess. Ready or not, here goes nothing.

When the priest’s head was under the pavement, the cover closed. His immersion into darkness caused him to experience vertigo and a few moments of claustrophobia as he flailed his way to the bottom.

What have I gotten myself into?

This was the same question the father asked when he was a young recruit and found himself on the hallowed grounds of Fort Lost-in-the-Woods misery. His phobia of snakes combined with a fear of closed-in spaces had him thrashing at imaginary serpents and cursing the darkness. When he finally reached the bottom or what he hoped was the bottom, the situation didn’t improve. Thankfully, he was off the ladder, but the place was eerily dark, and the snake issue was still fresh in his mind.

Hello, is anybody here?

After several painful moments of NBS, or in layman’s terms, nothing but silence, Father Olin went on the attack.

Stop messing with me, JJ, or the world’s going to hear all about the ladies’ auxiliary and the granny panties back in ’84.

Father Olin’s counterattack must have pushed the right buttons because seconds later, the lights came on, and there stood JJ accompanied by MPs.

Calm down, Father. We had to do this for security reasons. It’s my ass if the wrong rabbit comes down that hole.

Phew. It’s good that I’m the right rabbit.

Yeah. A blind man could spot that ugly face a mile away.

Enough of the niceties, JJ. Now, why do you mole people need a priest? I don’t have enough years left to hear your confession, and it’s too late to do an exorcism.

We’ll fill you in later, Father, but for now, welcome to DUMB.

Dumb? Idiotic seems more appropriate.

Yeah. It’s an acronym for Defense Underground Military Base.

So I’m in a dumb place talking to a moron. What does that say about me? Next, I suppose you’re going to tell me that I’m in the Army Security Service?

Why would I tell you that?

Think about the acronym.

Good one, Father. Let me introduce you to your new quarters and Mr. Scotch.

Buy me drinkie, GI.

Both men laughed at the old Okinawa whisper alley humor from back in their grunt days as they made their way through the dimly lit tunnel. The passageway had the appearance of a polished sewer pipe except that it was devoid of any creepy crawlies and had a flat floor wide enough for golf carts.

Does this place have any snakes or any of those Gila monsters?

Where did that come from?

I was warned about them by—

Oh right. Captain Smart-Ass, your driver. He tells that crap to everyone.

Yeah, he seems all right, but since my experience—

Don’t worry about it, Father. We have teams here to take care of that stuff. There are no snakes, bugs, and the concrete is so thick, it would take rats a couple centuries to penetrate the facility.

I’m sorry I acted like a baby, JJ. If you can find some Captain Morgan, I won’t even care what’s crawling around down here.

Chapter 2

Chaplain Inside the Dark World

Morning or something like it came down hard. The time before ordination when the good father could handle his liquor had long since passed. One little glass of the captain had done him in.

What in the name of our sacred mother was I thinking? Father Olin muttered while splashing water on his face.

The water felt so good, he decided to take two aspirins and hit the shower. The shower felt so good that he was having second thoughts about getting out, but like all good things, it had to end. So with a new lease on life, Father Olin left the warmth of the shower, threw on a robe, and staggered into the kitchen.

The chaplain’s quarters were spartan by officer standards but more than adequate, considering the subterranean nature of the place. For a few brief moments in the kitchen, he thought he was experiencing an earthquake. The room wasn’t shaking, but the sounds reminded him of the noises he heard in California seconds before the ground began to move. This time, the unholy sound was emanating from his recliner where JJ was sleeping.

Still the king of practical jokers, Father Olin filled a glass with warm water and was about to put JJ’s hand in the glass when the door flew open. The shock of the door opening caused Father Olin to drop the water in JJ’s lap and stumble backward onto the floor. Before he could get back on his feet, Bev flew across the room and leaped on top of him.

Quick, take me while the pig’s unconscious.

I’m a priest, Bev.

Who are you, and what have you done with my Olin? Where’s my warrior prince who used to keep me prisoner in his bedroom for days on end?

That was before you dumped me and married JJ and before I became a priest.

Go ahead and wake up the pig. I’ll scrounge us some coffee.

Do you mind if I mess with him a little?

Give the bastard a coronary for all I care.

Father Olin reflected on Bev’s comment but shook it off. He figured it was just a typical marital spat and nothing more serious.

Wake up, JJ!

What! What the hell’s going on? Is the place on fire?

I didn’t want to scare you, but there’s a major outside all upset about the president being on station.

JJ’s face went pale as he jumped from the chair and shot out of the room. He ran so fast, Father Olin didn’t have time to tell him it was a prank.

How long do you think he’ll be gone?

Not long enough, sweetie.

Stop it, Bev. You can be arrested for cruelty to a priest.

Men! The good ones become priests, and I get the creature from the black lagoon.

Father Olin and Bev sat at the counter and were deep in reminiscing by the time JJ returned.

You ought to be court-martialed for taking me away from my dream girl and making me pee my pants.

Was she sheared, or was she still wearing her fleece? Bev asked.

What the hell is Godzilla doing here?

I came here to get laid by a real man, but you were snoring so loud, we couldn’t concentrate.

A few tense moments passed in that special silence that permeates empty marriages. All the good father could do was watch as his old friends lay more bricks on an already-impenetrable wall, which came crashing down when JJ pulled the pin on a condescension grenade.

Bev, you need to leave. It’s time for the grown-ups to talk.

Bev mimicked her husband, stood, and stormed out of the room.

What’s going on with you two?

JJ held up his shushing finger, pulled a remote-control device from his pocket, and pushed some buttons. Seconds later, every cavity in the father’s head began to throb from the horrible sound emanating from the walls. The sound wasn’t too loud or too annoying; it was all those things rolled into one.

What is that horrible noise?

It’s called a doppelgänger. We use it to keep our sensitive conversations from being intercepted.

Seriously. What are you guys hiding down here?

You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.

Tell me, and we’ll see if I believe you.

All in good time, Father. Let me just say that Genesis beats the hell out of anything you’ve ever seen.

How about a clue?

Okay, here’s a clue for you. The artifacts are from the Old Testament.

"What is this, Final Jeopardy? Did you find the ark of the covenant, leaves from the tree of life, or maybe a piece of Noah’s ark? How about a chapter and verse?"

This isn’t a joke, Father Wise Ass.

Come on, JJ, if I dragged you across the country and dumped this riddle on you, you’d kick my rear end up one side and down the other.

I can’t argue that, Father. All I’m asking is that you keep an open mind.

The floor is yours, and for what it’s worth, my mind is open.

Empty too, but that’s a subject for another time. What I’m trying to tell you, you old grunt, is that the artifacts in Insylum are so fantastic that hard-core atheists are now praying to the baby Jesus.

Now, I know you’re nuts.

I would’ve agreed with you before I saw them.

Them? So there’s more than one?

Them refers to two functioning objects found in the Dead Sea by an Israeli archeological expedition.

So why do you need a priest?

Jeez, Captain Obvious, we have two functional religious artifacts. Should we have gotten a plumber?

No, but none of this makes any sense. If these artifacts are as religiously significant as you say, why would the Israelis give them to us?

I have no idea. Our Israeli friends couldn’t get rid of them fast enough. It was the shortest game of hot potatoes in history, and according to the Israelis, the artifacts uncovered themselves.

I guess they must be active if they went to all the trouble to dig themselves up.

"It’s nothing like that, Father. The Dead Sea water levels have been dwindling for years due to an increased population. It